


his own

by sevedra



Series: Portraits of Recovery [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Gen, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-The Avengers: Infinity War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 21:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13467054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevedra/pseuds/sevedra
Summary: This room had been given to him, but he'd made it his own.





	his own

The room was spartan. Stark had led him right to the door, opened it himself and left Bucky with a quick "This one's you" and walked away. There was a bed, a dresser, a small table with a drawer and a lamp, and an armchair. The floor was highly polished wood. Bucky could see two open doors which led to a closet and a bathroom. There was one window that looked out over the back side of the compound's acreage. It was a long way to the tree line.

So this was Bucky's room.

The first day, Bucky put his two pair of pants, four shirts, and a handful of socks and underwear in the dresser. He didn't own much. The sheets and blanket had come with the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his journal _just so_ on the bedside table next to the lamp. And that was that.

He was officially moved in.

During the first week, Sam helped him order some more clothes and some books. Fabrics like soft washed cotton and fuzzy fleece and an odd collection of novelty socks. The books were an eclectic mix of titles he remembered from before the war, a few more that sounded interesting based on what he remembered liking from then, and selections from the top 100 novels of the 20th century. He'd missed a lot. Sam insisted on some others that were apparently "too good to miss, but not high-brow" and "everyone has read this, I mean everyone". His new stuff came pretty quickly. It was no problem to fill the dresser and hang a few things in the closet. The books though, that was a bit of an issue. He ended up stacking them on the dresser and the table. That lasted until Natasha came by and offered to take him to get a bookcase. Once he had that in his room, his books had somewhere to live.

Things were getting personal.

By the time he finally worked up the courage to see Stark in the workshop, Bucky had made friends with internet shopping. His room now had an art print and a poster on the wall to go with his books. He'd added a stack of origami paper and two origami books to his bookcase. The top of the dresser held a scattering of tiny creatures and boxes made of folded paper, and an assortment of fiddly handheld puzzles like Rubik's Cube that were good exercise for the new arm. Fine motor control and all that.

The room was becoming his place in the compound.

He started leaving his shoes under the side of the bed when he didn't have to go outside. He had switched out his combat boots for sneakers while still in Wakanda. Sneakers were loads more comfortable and quicker and easier to get on and off. He liked them so much he bought three pairs in different colors. But he was comfortable now and didn't need the shoes when he had awesome socks with tiny arrows and shields and mustaches on them. His new clothes were softer than his HYDRA tac gear. They fit looser and let his body shift freely even under the heavier layers. He felt good.

Sam took him and Steve to an outdoor market with antiques and handmade furniture and linens. Bucky'd bought himself two fluffy quilts made by a tiny woman who was probably born the same year Bucky himself was. She'd smiled brightly and squinted closely as he'd counted out her money. He felt a tug of sadness for his own grandmother and then a flush of warmth that he could remember his own grandmother.

Bucky was finding himself.

Eventually, Bucky stopped wearing socks, too. He didn't feel panicked in the compound. His time didn't feel urgent. He sat in his armchair and read his books and it felt good. He bought a throw rug made from strips of old t-shirts recycled and complexly braided into something useful by an industrious teenage girl who may have been related to the old woman. They worked the same booth at the market but not on the same days. There was a second rug that was made of the world's softest yarn and deep enough to dig his toes into. Clint had called it a shag. Bucky didn't know any shag except the Carolina and you couldn't dance like that on the sheer fluffiness of this rug.

By the time Tony noticed that Bucky had stopped wearing shoes, Bucky had noticed that his room was a home. It had things he liked in it. It was filled with comfortable furnishings. He could be there alone in the quiet and rest. It was a safe haven. He hadn't found it himself, like his place in Romania that was never a home but was definitely his.

This room had been given to him, but he'd made it his own.


End file.
